We need support. Real support. Not just nice sentiments, not just kind words. Real, actual support.

Support means services. Services that we can access. I am struggling to see my psychiatrist because the Taylor Centre only does psychiatric appointments between 0930 and 1530, Monday to Friday. I work full time. I can’t make it to these times. I’ve been lucky at my current job because they give me time off to go. But I am going to have to start a new job soon, and I can’t rely on that being the case. My private psychiatrist will see me out of hours – at $200 a pop. Once every two to four weeks, that adds up quickly. I am not well paid.

Support means money. It means that when the shit hits the fan, we don’t get pushed into penury. I spent three weeks in a psych unit this year, and a further three weeks off work afterwards. My benefit was $2 less per week than my rent. Without the kindness of friends and strangers, I would have lost my home. That is simply not good enough.

It’s not my fucking fault that my brain breaks. I don’t choose this life. I don’t choose brokenness; I don’t choose my reality being so very fragile. I don’t choose to be suicidal, and I don’t choose to be unwell. I don’t appreciate being treated like I’m not worth supporting. I don’t deserve to lose everything, over and over, because I’m a psych patient. I don’t want to have to rely on a few good people over and over until they give up on me.

We, as a whole society, need to do better. We need to get our shit together and treat people who are unwell and not ‘contributing’ as fucking people, not burdens. We need to give them their rights as people, to good and fulfilling lives, not to struggle and scrabble. We need to give them the keys to wellness by supporting them, caring for them, being kind but also being practical.

Three weeks from now, I hand my work keys back, and I don’t know what the future holds. I don’t want to have to fear that my disclosure of mental illness might count me out of a new job, or that I might be discriminated against because I’m not your average neurotypical person. I’m even more scared of needing a benefit, because the pressure and the work obligations are so hard, and because they won’t pay me enough to live.

Make the changes. Make our society a place that mentally ill people are supported, valued, cared for, loved, treated with kindness . . . accepted.